


Bad Dreams, Worse Fortunes

by sleepingseeker



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, Burgeoning Romance, Comfort, Gen, Light Angst, bonding over hot drinks, hints of romance, hints of unrequited feelings, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 22:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7379791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As it’s said, ‘The past is never done with us’, whether it is a past as close as yesterday or one 10,000 years ago. What haunts dreams and keeps peace at bay brings two weary heroes together for a moment of delicate, fleeting bonding over a warm, comforting cup. <br/>Hints of burgeoning ShiroxAllura.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Dreams, Worse Fortunes

"I have always believed, and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value."

― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

 

He wandered down the twisting hallway of the castle. Tiny guide lights glowed in soft violet tones as he approached, only to dim as he passed, leaving a tunnel of darkness behind him. He stepped quietly, not really wanting to wake anyone and make them aware that he was up at this hour. Again. Restless, sleepless and pacing. Not really sure which direction he was heading.

Head muddied with lack of sleep, stress, and the ever-present paranoia that never seemed to ease. That pressure in the back of his head. The skittish feeling plaguing him of being one step too late; that he would plunge into another bout of terror, another vision leaving him helpless, shaken and reminded how very broken he was, despite the act he put on.

"Leader," he muttered with a faint scowl.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose, just above the scar slicing his face horizontally. The scar he could not remember the origin of. Or he did, but his mind refused to allow him to relive that horror.

These feelings that dogged him in the quiet moments. That he was on the verge of something, something hideous and evil. That it took all the focus and strength he had to keep it at bay. And as exhausting as that was, he could not sleep. Nothing more than the fitful tossing and turning of an hour or two before he awoke, startled, shaking, eyes full of unshed tears.

Or worse: furious, enraged. Heart hammering. Eyes wide and wild. His metal hand glowing. Ready not just to fight, but to tear someone apart.

He groaned softly. "What is wrong with me?" Shiro asked. Pitiful. Ridiculous. He was only going to let his crew – no, they were more than that, now, weren't they? – his friends, down.

"No. I won't. I've got to get ahold of this. I will. I have to."

A moan, followed by a shout came from the wall he leaned against. Shiro straightened, looking around. The sound came again, only muffled and strained. He stepped back and took note that the portion of the wall he was braced against was actually a set of ornate double doors.

He was outside someone's room. By the sound of the distressed voice within, it was Allura's. He rushed forward only to stop short, one hand extended towards the handle. His fingers curled and he dropped his hand away. "What are you doing," he asked himself. "You can't just barge inside."

He glanced down the hallway, trying to get his bearings, trying to recall where Coran's room was in relation to where he stood inside the castle. They'd gone over the ship's interior map several times. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but Shiro couldn't place where he was exactly.

And he couldn't just pretend that he didn't hear Allura make those sounds, either. Fist clenched, he reached out again only to nearly poke Allura in the forehead as the doors slid open.

They started and gasped, speaking in unison. "Shiro! What are -" "Allura, I-I'm sorry!"

She pulled the front of her robe tightly as the two of them fell silent. After a few seconds, she asked, "What are you doing outside of my private chamber?"

His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came from him. He stared at her, at a loss, face growing uncomfortably hot. Her eyes searched his for explanation.

He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. Fidgeting like a chastised child, he said quietly, "I had no idea that this was your, uh, bedroom. I wasn't really paying attention to where, exactly, I was going, or where, uh, exactly, I was at all. To be honest."

Somehow his explanation only made it seem all the more like he knew right where he was heading. Shiro felt his cheeks burn. _Now she thinks I'm some kind of perverted peeping tom or something._

Allura looked down the hall, one way then the other. "What are you doing up at this hour?" Her face grew solemn and paled. "There isn't trouble is there?" As she asked, she reached out to take his arm.

He stiffened at the contact, then, carefully, placed his mechanical hand upon hers. Feelings were muted and strange, whenever he touched objects with the alien device, sending signals that he didn't always quite understand. That he had any sensation at all through the prosthetic was miraculous.

As was it troubling.

There was so much he didn't understand about what had happened to him. So much he feared to know.

Yet, right now, sensing her small, smooth hand beneath his, Shiro felt only grateful. Galra tech or not.

He shook his head. "No, there's nothing to worry about."

She relaxed and released him. Her hand slid through his metal fingers, lingering only a second longer than needed before she hugged herself and smiled at him. At least, it seemed that way. Didn't it?

Shiro's heart rocked against his ribs. His throat worked and he looked away, only to glance back to see her still smiling at him.

"You haven't answered my first question, Paladin." She stepped forward and Shiro gave her a little space, in an awkward move that was something between a step back and a bow. She started down the hall and he hurried to match her step.

"I could ask the same of you, Princess."

She gave him a look over her shoulder, playful, but tinged with something else. A shadow. She said nothing and continued on.

He found his step faltering and an urge to stop her from getting away from him made his mechanical hand bunch to a loose fist. Before he could press his question, they entered another corridor, shorter and well-lit. Shiro followed and when they came to a turn, the room automatically lit up, bright and welcoming. They found themselves in one of the smaller kitchens off the main mess hall.

Allura pulled two cups from a cupboard and selecting from a series of nozzles sticking out from the tiled wall, dragged a length of green hose from the wall. With a flick of her thumb, something thick and steaming poured into each mug. She turned to him and motioned with her head for him to sit down at the counter dividing the space. On either side sat two stools.

He eased into one of them. She placed one cup in front of him. He eyed it suspiciously. Food hadn't been the most appetizing part of their space adventures thus far. But he didn't want to appear rude.

Allura didn't notice his hesitation and sipped from her cup after blowing across the surface. Without looking up, she mentioned, "It's Murara."

"Murara?" He asked and sniffed. Hints of citrus tickled his nose with a deeper, almost nutty note following.

_Doesn't seem too bad._

He raised the rim to his lips and took a tentative sip. After the burning, which he mentally cursed himself for not blowing on his as Allura had done, there was a sour flavor that mellowed immediately into something lush and smooth, like melted chocolate but tasting closer to honeyed almonds with a slight burnt note.

"It's nothing like back on Altea, of course. The freshly picked and cured stamens of the Mura Mura flower give none of this bitterness or," she smacked her lips lightly, grimacing, "cloying aftertaste."

Shiro studied the movement of her lips only to realize he was staring and corrected himself by ducking his head and taking another, much larger, gulp.

The heated liquid seared the entirety of his mouth. Taste buds were annihilated. The roof of his mouth rendered to ash. His eyes bulged and watered. He fought the urge to spit the contents directly back into his mug, but since he was merely a foot away from the lovely and poised princess, felt that might not make the best impression.

Miserable, he swallowed, the fist on his lap clenched tight, his foot, unseen beneath the island separating them, bouncing in tremendous agony.

"It's something my Aunt Elliania would make for me when I had bad dr-," she caught herself as Shiro looked up, blinking back the tears of pain from his eyes. "When I could not sleep. It's meant as a soothing tonic." She took another sip. "Even though it's nothing like home," the word seemed to catch, "I do find it soothing. Don't you?"

He coughed and nodding, managed to croak, "Very."

She swirled a finger around the rim of her cup. "Aunt Elliania showed me how to read the remnants of the tonic once you were finished drinking. Supposedly, you could see your future successes or predict some misfortune awaiting you. Some of the ladies in court whose daughters stayed with us played games with it. Trying to conjure faces or names of future suitors. It was all so long ago." She shrugged.

She gave him a weak smile and then sat for a few minutes in silence. Eyes turning inward, contemplating what he could not begin to guess at.

Wishing that she would continue talking to him. About anything. Anything at all.

Mostly, though, Shiro yearned to steal away that shadow in her eyes. To chase it from her dreams. To free her from whatever it was oppressing her. Whether it was the past or the future, it made no difference to him.

He wanted to ask her about the sounds he'd heard outside her bedroom door. The noises made when someone awakes from troubling dreams. He wanted to reach across the table and take her hand. To tell her that she could trust in him. That he understood. More than maybe she realized.

But something held him back. A sense of protocol and duty.

He was the Black Paladin. Tasked with the leadership of the team of defenders. The best, last hope against a brutal enemy. He could not afford a misstep. Anything that could threaten their burgeoning team in any way had to be avoided. No matter his feelings. He had to set the example. He had to do right by Allura, Coran and his Paladins. They were all counting on him.

"The Murara is the green hose farthest to the left," she said, suddenly emerging from her reverie and breaking him of his depressing spiral of thoughts. "If you find that it helps, I invite you to help yourself, whenever you need. It's here."

She stood up and Shiro did as well. They looked at one another. The words were on his lips, slipping past before he could stop himself. "I hope it helps you rest better."

Her smile came soft and still tinged with sadness. The light in her eyes making his heart clench painfully.

"I find Murara works best when taken," she motioned to him, "with good company."

He ducked his head, unable to respond to the compliment. Not able to trust himself to not look the fool if he tried to say anything at all.

"Goodnight, Black Paladin."

He straightened. "Goodnight, Princess."

He watched her glide through the room and slip through the door without another word or glance back. Shiro turned his head. He peered into the bottom of his cup, searching for a sign of his future or fortune. He tipped it forward, looked closer and frowned.

The only thing he could make out in the murky dregs seemed twisted; monstrous in form, menacing and ugly.

He jerked back. With stiff strides, he crossed the room, set the cup upside down in the basin and did his best to banish the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my very first foray into Voltron Fanfiction. I'm currently in Voltron Hell and it BURNS SO GOOD! XD


End file.
